


Against the Wall

by rispacooper



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Anal Sex, Costume Kink, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick comes home to a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against the Wall

“Against the wall.”

It was one of those times when Nick was so surprised by something Greg had done that he reacted without thinking. He dropped his bag, closed the front door, and moved to stand against the wall—well, against the low, narrow counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.

Greg had made dinner, he noted absently, then frowned when Greg put a hand to the middle of his back and pushed him forward until his boots stumbled into the short cabinet and Nick had to plant both hands on the counter to stay up.

It might have been a bad idea to speak, but he had to try.

“G...”

“Officer Sanders,” Greg corrected him—in his usual voice, which only made it more bizarre when he shoved Nick again and slid his palm briefly down over Nick's ass. It wasn't the recommended way to frisk someone. Nick raised his head anyway, felt his pulse skyrocket.

“I said _against the wall_ ,” Greg reminded him. “And spread 'em.” Which he hadn't said, though Nick had gotten that message anyway. As though he weren't already aware of where this was going. He flushed, thought about answering back smartly, saying anything like, “I had a long shift” or “I didn't realize it was Halloween” but then cleared his throat.

“Yeah, sure, Officer,” he answered, though he looked over. He had to get another glimpse of Greg, his lean body in a tight, dark blue uniform, a badge—a _real_ badge, glinting at his chest, shining at least as much as the handcuffs dangling—non-regulation—from his belt next to the gleaming wood of a big, old-fashioned night stick. Large sunglasses hid most of his face.

Nick's eyes widened, but before he could ask where in the hell Greg had gotten that night stick, Greg moved behind him and slid a knee between his legs. Greg's hands pawed over his shoulders and between his shoulder blades, then under his arms to feel his chest and stomach. Nick's lower back was next, his ass, his crotch, between his thighs, rough but thorough.

Nick jumped at the hand cupping his balls through his jeans, then rocked back. He lowered his head without thinking. Embarrassed. Horny.

The frisking wasn't regulation either; Greg ignored the rest of his legs to pat down his ass again. He pulled Nick's wallet free of his back pocket, then tossed it on top of the cabinet a few moments later.

“Know why you're in trouble, Mr...Stokes?” Greg leaned forward to grunt into his ear. His hand was still at Nick's ass, and he squeezed it before running a touch down and underneath. Nick blinked, but inched back. Greg—the freak—immediately withdrew his hand.

Oh yeah. Nick was supposed to say something.

“Uh...No, Sir,” he managed. It sounded right.

“That's quite an accent, Mr. Stokes.” Greg's breath was on his ear. Nick shivered. “Where you from?”

“I...Texas,” Greg was insane, but Nick didn't much care. “...Sir,” he added a moment later.

Greg liked that; he gave Nick's ass another pat.

“Texas? Only two things come out of Texas, Cowboy,” Greg purred against his skin, making Nick shake. He knew what Greg was going to say next. Greg's other hand clutched at his hip, holding him still—as if Nick would want to move with Greg at his back. “..Steers and queers,” Greg went on, lowering his voice even more. “Which one are you?”

Greg pressed closed to him and he was turned on. Nick could feel heat and a full cock against his ass. _Fuck_ it felt good.

“Queer.” He didn't hesitate and Greg laughed in disbelief.

“Queer?” he repeated when he could, dropping back into character, if it could be called that, and thrust slightly so Nick could feel how Greg was going to fuck him. Nick tightened his hold on the counter and nodded. Greg sighed out something, then firmed his voice. “A good-looking tough guy like you?” he asked, “I don't believe it. Guess I'm going to have to take you in for lying to an officer of the law.”

“No, I...” Nick was hot all over, didn't look up. His stuttering wasn't on purpose, but it made Greg lean into him, intimidating and hot as hell. “I can...I can prove it.”

“Prove it?” Greg lifted his chin. “How's a pretty thing like you going to prove something like that to me?”

Nick was going to have to ask what the hell Greg had watched on TV today, and if he could watch it too. Probably porn. “Full Metal Cock” or something.

He wet his lips, but Greg pulled back from him and slipped to the side so Nick could see him. He had one hand at his belt, at the night stick, and his thumb was working over the tip of the handle. Slowly.

Nick jerked forward, hot, pounding. He glanced at the bulge in Greg's pants and then up to Greg's mouth, which was curved ever so slightly. He thought Greg was going to make him ask for _his_ fantasy, but then Greg moved his hand from the night stick to his fly and palmed himself through his pants.

“Like that do you, Mr. Stokes?” His tone said he knew the answer. “Want that, you cocksucking pansy?” The words slid out of Greg, hot and sharp and Nick felt them stab into his spine, flare up until he was burning all over.

Later, much later, he was going to get Greg back for this, but right now he looked away so Greg wouldn't see the reaction in his face, and shut his eyes. But he was nodding, nodding over his blushes and the faint shame of being called “pansy” and liking it.

“Yes, Sir.” That's what he was after all. A gun-toting, Texas cop who liked men, something Greg knew only too well. The shame sparked brighter, and then died away completely. If it meant he was going to get fucked, the hell yes he was a pansy. “Yes, Sir,” he answered again, fraternity-obedient.

“Yes, Sir, _what_?” Greg pressed and Nick heard him moving.

“Yes, Sir, I want...” He swallowed. “...that.”

“And what is _that_?” Greg's breath on his neck, his heat at his back. Nick got dizzy, got hard, in the same moment. He was going to say it.

“Your cock,” he paused, “Officer.”

Greg liked that too. Nick jumped at the wet slide of tongue on the back of his neck, the hand reaching between his legs to grab his junk.

“You _do_ want it, don't you? Guess you are queer.”

Nick was on fire. He arched his neck and spoke in a dry rasp. Greg was cupping him just right, rolling his palm.

“Yes, Sir.” Oh yes, yes sir he did. It had been a really long shift.

“Though there's only one way to really be sure...” Greg was enjoying himself. He slapped Nick's ass—hard—then licked him again. “Let's see that fine ass, Texas boy.”

It was an implicit order for Nick to undress, but then Greg did it for him, reaching around Nick to undo his belt buckle, slide down his zipper. He shoved Nick's underwear down with his jeans and squeezed Nick's ass when Nick shivered.

“Nice,” he approved, then removed his hands. He didn't step away as he got his own pants open. He didn't leave at all, not even an inch, but a few moments later Nick heard the cap on a bottle being popped, and then slick, slapping sounds.

“Are you...” Nick didn't know his own voice. Greg was touching himself, his hands wet with lube, warm and slippery around his cock.

“Worried I won't take care of you, Cowboy?” Greg spoke against his skin, then brought smooth, wet fingers to Nick's ass. He teased a circle, just enough for a warning, and then slid two fingers inside.

Nick spread his legs and grasped at the counter with hands that were suddenly weak. Sweet Jesus, it felt good. His body stretched despite the ache, the faint burn, and then he pushed back to let Greg's fingers fuck him.

He grunted at the push inside, then again at the flare of need. He thought his hands were shaking.

“Yeah, you like that. You'll shut up and take it like a good boy, won't you?” It was a trick question. Nick answered it just the same.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, his voice rising higher at what he knew was coming. He surged forward anyway at _three_ fingers inside of him. _Fuck_. For a wild moment he thought Greg might go for four, might fist him, right here against the wall, the way Nick had spread Greg wide open last week.

He jerked back, gasping.

He was ass up, legs wide, with Greg three fingers deep in him, but his cock was heavy with the demand for more. Greg wasn't going to let up either, he was working his fingers and using his other hand to grab Nick's hip and hold him still for it, to make Nick take what was coming to him, how he was going to fuck Nick hard. Nick still didn't know why, but he didn't care either. He was going to shut up and take it.

He braced himself when Greg finally slid his fingers out, but moaned quietly at being empty, only to choke on the sound when Greg's cock pushed into him, deep, with no hesitation.

“Greg.” He barely breathed it. His brain was spinning, his body arching up, every nerve ending fired up and singing. It wasn't enough, sudden like this, it didn't feel like enough, though it hurt, burned, and then Greg, _fuck_ , Greg stretched him _more_ , the bastard, slid one finger in alongside his cock.

He pressed his mouth to Nick's spine, just above his collar, pressed his teeth to him without breaking the skin.

Nick was breathing heavily through his mouth, not speaking, just shuddering in violent, helpless, turned on bursts.

“You shut up and take it, Texas pretty boy,” Greg growled at him, his body still as he let Nick adjust, and Nick nodded quickly, though he remembered Greg talking, Greg streaming out words in ecstasy when all of Nick's hand had disappeared inside him.

But he nodded, and then nodded again so Greg would be sure to see, and let out a pained, pleased grunt when Greg finally started to fuck him. _Finally_. The minutes of waiting had been hours.

He could hear Greg's breathing too, fast and labored to match his, hitching when Nick moved back in time to Greg's thrusting. _Christ_. It was the rightest thing about his day. About his _year_.

Split, he felt split and wide open and bursting, and it was hot. Lightening and whiskey and Greg's mouth on his skin. Greg wasn't going slow. He pushed hard in and out, bent Nick down to fuck him deeper, clutching at his hip enough to leave bruises.

Nick took that too, grunting at the sparks behind his eyes, the sounds, and oh God, the thick weight inside of him.

“You like that.” Greg wasn't telling him to shut up anymore, but Nick could only nod, and force out hoarse, panting breaths that weren't words. His mind agreed for him, screaming out, _Yes, Sir, Yes, Officer, Yes, Greg_ in a loud, bold voice, as eager as any actor in Greg's porn. Every stroke hurt, dragged, ratcheted up the tension in his lower back and made his world brighter. He took it and Greg gave it to him, roughly grabbing his skin as his thrusts got shallow, quick and out of control, until Greg dropped his hand with no warning and reached around to pump Nick's cock in his slick fist.

“Fuck, Nick,” he breathed and Nick opened his eyes at the streaks of heat, in and out of him, the _pressure_ , again and again, faster. _Fuck_. He was going to come. He tried to say something, to speak, but Greg pushed him to the cabinet, ran his thumb over the head of Nick's cock, and Nick was coming, just like that, spilling all over his stomach, the counter, then gasping at Greg's last few desperate thrusts and the hot explosion inside of him.

“So...” he managed after a few minutes of harsh breathing and trembling legs. Greg was shivering and heavy over him, barely moving. “...What the hell did you watch today?”

Greg just laughed, soft and amused, against his neck.

 

The End


End file.
